Power, Pleasure, Pain
by FairyCakesAndDaggers
Summary: He had to know the reason Christine had been unable to destroy him. What force had spared his miserable life? Based on the 1989 movie. Rated M for darkness and violence.
1. Prologue

**_The Erik/Phantom in this story is based mostly on the one Robert Englund portrayed in the 1989 film adaptaion, but he'll also have influences from Leroux.  
The OFC in this story is based on an OFC my aunt "M" came up with for her Highlander fanfiction. I can't really say much more about the character without giving away plot spoilers. Part of this is on her website, but, as she hasn't had time to continue it, she has handed it over to me. We have been working together on this story for a while, and we both hope you enjoy it.  
This is just the prologue; the ensuing chapters will not be this short._**

* * *

There was her voice, once again, echoing in his head.

No matter how many years passed, no matter the distance he put between them, her sweet voice followed him everywhere.

He rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to quiet his mind. One gloved hand reached blindly for the wine glass sitting somewhere in front of him. He drained the blood-red liquid in one swallow, then rose to pay his tab.

It was time for Erik Destler to move on.

* * *

She couldn't get the song out of her head. The melody had been with her ever since that night in New York City. What cruel fate had led her to that dusty little bookstore?

It didn't matter. She was far from that place, but the music - Oh, such exquisite music! - followed her wherever she went.

Once she arrived at her next destination, she would have to find a way to keep herself busy.

Then, maybe, she could escape the past and be herself again.

Lilith Ryan just had to remember who that was.


	2. Chapter 1

Paris was a beautiful city. Her anguish at her last memory there couldn't diminish her delight at being back. It was strangely comforting to be in the place that held so much history for her.

She'd lost count of how many days (1873? 1894?) had gone by since the funeral, but Adam had been right. She _did_ need to find a way to move on with her life.

Richard wouldn't have wanted her to wallow in grief. She took a deep breath before taking that first step towards the cemetary. She had to stop living in the past, she told herself yet again.

But she couldn't let go of the memories; they were all she had left of the man she'd loved for all too brief a time.

By the time she reached his grave, it was raining. "Oh, Rich," she sighed as she leaned against the dark, damp stone. "What wouldn't I give to feel your arms around me again?"

A hand rested on her shoulder, startling her and causing her to rise too quickly. She lost her balance, but the mystery man reached out to steady her.

"I apologise for frightening you," his voice murmured in French from beneath the brim of his dark hat.

Everything about him seemed dark, she noted. Or maybe that was just the gloom of the graveyard.

"Thank you," she sniffed. "I mean for catching me." It was oddly comforting to speak French again after all this time.

"Were the two of you close?" he asked, nodding toward the gravestone.

Lilith nodded. "We were in love. A horrible . . . accident took him from me soon after we were married." That was an understatement if ever there were one.

"I am sorry for your loss. Pain has a way of lingering, no matter how much time has passed."

"Indeed." She wiped the raindrops from her face. "Are you also visiting someone you loved? Ugh, what a silly question. Of course you are."

"That's not a silly question at all. I was out for a stroll and happened to see you here. You looked so lost and alone."

"That's how I've felt since . . . It's been five years and this is the first time I've been back. I still wake up expecting to see him beside me."

With that simple admission, she finally broke down and cried.

* * *

An hour later, they were sitting in a cafe, sipping hot chocolate by a roaring fireplace.

"Twenty-two is awfully young," the man she now knew was called Erik remarked.

"Yes," Lilith agreed. "But he packed a lot of life into those years. We managed to travel quite a bit together bef- Sometimes, I wonder if - Well, if we had taken our time in getting to Paris - " She drew a shaky breath.

He reached across the table to rest a hand on hers. "Some things are simply meant to be."

"I know." She wiped an errant tear from her cheek. "There's no changing the past or what fate has in store. Still, I wonder at _what if?_"

Erik nodded sympathetically. "I know that feeling all too well."

"Don't we all?" she asked with a sad smile. Without realising it, she began humming the song that had haunted her for years.

Erik's eyes widened in horrified surprise. "Wh- where did you hear that song?" His voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.

"I - I . . . heard a w- awoman singing it," her voice trembled. "In - in some little bookstore in New York. I heard it only once, but it's been stuck in my head ever since then." She glanced at the clock on the mantle. "Oh, I hadn't realised the time. I should be going. Thank you so much for - well, for this afternoon. If, ah, you should wish to be in touch with me -" She placed her card on the table for reasons she couldn't fathom. "This is where I'll be. Bonsoir."

He was, for the first time in a long time, speechless, so he merely nodded as she walked away.

He was suddenly closer to understanding why Christine had been unable to destroy him all those years ago.


	3. Chapter 2

Late the next evening, Erik found that dark-haired young woman wandering down a lonely side street. She was humming his music again.

"Lilith?" he called after her.

She turned, relieved to see him and not someone more sinister.

He was upon her before she could blink. "Where did you hear that song?" he snarled. "Why do you repeat it?"

He relished the fear in her smoky eyes as he pressed her against the damp brick wall. "Just how many have heard those notes from your sweet little throat?"

"I - I don't know. I - I j-just . . ." She tried to swallow the lump of fear swelling up within her. "I s-s-sing it b-b-because . . ."

"Ye-e-e-esss?" he hissed.

"Because it is so hauntingly beautiful."

"Sing," he commanded flatly.

"Wh- what?" The fear written across her face was replaced by confusion.

"_Your eyes see but my shadow_," he prompted. "Sing!"

She gasped for air, terrified of what he would do if she couldn't find her voice. "Your eyes see but my shadow . . . My heart is overflowing." Like a miracle, she recalled every word, as though it were etched on her soul, and her voice cut through the stillness of the night. "There's so much y-"

The sudden sharp pain in her midsection made her retch. She looked down at Erik's hands, glistening with her blood.

"Why?" she exhaled.

His eyes were cold and mocking. "Because -"

Erik awoke in a cold sweat. Why would he dream such a horrid thing? How could he silence the voice that had probably saved his life?

He made his way to the shower and let the warm water wash the harsh images away. He'd had no reason to kill in quite some time; perhaps he would seek out a victim to keep his hunting skills sharp.

Even as he skulked down the dark streets of a seedy neighbourhood, Lilith's voice rang clearly in his ears.

She wasn't a remarkable woman - pretty, but she wouldn't stand out much in a crowd - yet his thoughts returned to her. He could almost convince himself that it was her vulnerability at the cemetery, the way she she'd sobbed in his arms, the petiteness of her entire being that captivated him.

Erik stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his eyes and drank in his surroundings.

How had he wound up here? He never thought he'd return.

He noticed the address on the sign at the gate. It was the one Lilith had given him.

* * *

Lilith had opted to stay in on her second night back in Paris. After that bizarre encounter with Erik Doyle, she needed some time to clear her head. Staying in what had, for centuries, been sacred ground (even before the church had been built) meant she was safe from any Immortals looking for a fight.

Still, she might be attacked, and, if she were, she wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. Here, at least, she could try to get her sword skills back to a level where she stood a chance.

She spent nearly an hour just stretching, easing the kinks out of her muscles until she felt ready to attempt a basic routine. It was a good thing the monks had insisted she join them for yoga and tai chi every day or she might have wound up woefully out of shape.

She was about to go into the next sequence when the buzzer sounded.

_'Who could that be at the gate at this hour?'_ she wondered as she went to the security monitor she'd installed. _'Erik Doyle? I hadn't expected to see him again. Certainly not so soon.'_

She pressed the intercom button. "Yes?"

"Madame Ryan?" his voice crackled over the system. "It's Erik Doyle. We met yesterday."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Monsieur Doyle. I'll be out in a minute to unlock the gate." She quickly draped a cloth over the monitors and stashed her exercise equipment in the armoire.

When she reached the gate, she apologised. "I'm sorry about all the clutter inside. I - uh - my furniture arrived today, and I'm still sorting through everything."

She guided him around to the side entrance.

Erik held up a gloved hand. "No apologies necessary. I have relocated often enough myself to know how chaotic it can be. This building - It's quite remarkable. What was it before it was converted into a house?"

"A church, actually. Richard and I had just started renovating wh-" She closed her eyes for a moment. "Would you care for some coffee? Or wine? I have rather a nice collection."

"Uh, no, no. Thank you. I found myself in the neighbourhood and thought I'd stop by and say hello. That - that song you were humming . . . Do you remember the lyrics?"

She was surprised by his knack for changing topics so abruptly. "Oh, not really. Something about a shadow . . . Learning to love or something. Sorry." She couldn't understand her need to keep apologising to this singular man.

"If I were to find you the lyrics," he began softly. "Could you sing it then?"

"I'm not much of a singer, monsieur."

"No? Not even if . . . if I coached you?" He felt an ineffable desire to hear her sing his arias. If the dream he'd had only hours before were any indication, she was well worth hearing.

Her eyes betrayed the depths of her pain. "It's just -" She drew a shaky breath. "I haven't sung since Richard died. A part of me died with him that night, and I don't know if I can ever get it back."

He understood that perfectly. "There is no soul, no passion left in your voice."

A bolt of shame shot through her being. Lilith stared down at her feet and shook her head. He placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"Would your Richard have been pleased to know this?"

Her shoulders began shaking, but she refused to cry in front of this strange man again. "How dare you," she whispered.

"I dare," Erik murmured, "because it is a sin to allow such talent to go to waste, my dear. You needn't sing for me. If you wish to languish, locked away in your church, I shan't trouble you anymore. I will leave you to your solitude. Bon nuit, Mme. Ryan."

He turned on his heel, his frock coat billowing out around him like a cape, his soles click-clacking all the way to the foyer.

"M-monsieur?" She knew she sounded like a frightened child seeking comfort; that didn't matter. "Will you help me find my voice again?"

She couldn't see the wicked grin that spread across his face as he informed her that he would return for her the following evening after sunset.

If she had had any inkling of what lay in store for her future, she would have left Paris and never returned.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Sorry this took me a while to get posted; I've been doing this #BelowTheLine challenge to raise awareness for poverty (see my twitter feed CupcakeDaggers for more on that).**_

* * *

_'I can't believe I agreed to this! And all because he used Richie's memory against me. I wonder if I still have time to back out of this. Damn! I don't have any way to contact him. I suppose I'll just have to go through this for one night.'_

Once the sun had begun to set, she decided to wait for him out in the courtyard. The sky appeared to be on fire, and she wanted to commit every wave of colour to memory.

For some reason, she was none to keen on having Erik Doyle inside her home again.

* * *

The night had been gruelling.

Lilith couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a vigorous workout, not even when sparring with Methos, and he never took it easy on her. She told herself, for the hundredth time since Erik had come to fetch her, that this would be good for her, that such strenuous exercise under the watchful eye of one so talented was bound to help her get back into fighting shape quickly.

Still, she wasn't sure she could handle all his harsh criticism whenever she hit the wrong note or didn't stand exactly the way he wanted her to.

This Erik Doyle was a cruel taskmaster, but he was brilliant, as well. There was a hardness in his eyes when he spoke to her, a way he had of glaring that she imagined came from his own heartache.

But his voice? Oh, his voice held such passion, simmering just beneath the surface, that felt as though he were trying to infuse her very being with his own love for the music.

Now, it was morning, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget the entire night.

* * *

Erik was more than a little pleased with the progress Lilith had made in just one night.

_'Not much of a singer, indeed,'_ he chuckled to himself. _'You will be soon enough, my dear.'_

He poured himself a fresh cup of strong coffee and sauntered back to his beloved piano.

_'Tonight, I shall give her something new, a song I compose for her alone. Lilith shall be my new muse, and Don Juan shall, at last, be triumphant!'_

* * *

Lilith awoke after a terribly fitful sleep. All she'd wanted when she'd finally made it home was to rest, but, once she'd gone to bed, her thoughts were clouded with music.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. _'I can't do this. I'll simply explain to him that I'm not cut out for a, hmm, life consumed by music.'_

It was mid-morning. She could focus on repairing that wall in the western turret after breakfast.

A few beams and a couple of panels later, she was starting to feel better.

The discipline Erik demanded of her was not all that different from that required when wielding a sword. Focus, determination, agility -

"OW!" she cried out when she drove a nail through her finger. "Dammit!"

She took several deep breaths to steady herself for what she was about to do.

"How in the world did you manage to do that?" Erik asked, morbid fascination written clearly across his face.

"I got lost in thought," she admitted sheepishly. "Wasn't paying enough to - What are you doing?"

"I am attempting to extricate you from this trap . . . Unless you'd prefer to remain rooted here for the rest of your life."

She chuckled mirthlessly. He had no idea how long that could actually be.

Biting down the scream she felt erupting from deep within her, she hastened to hide her hand in the folds of her shirt.

"Come, come, let me see it. It'll need to be cleaned and bandaged." He was confused by her refusal to so much as unwrap her hand so he could see the extent of the damage. His confusion gave way to anger, and he reached for her wrist.

He ignored her whimpers of pain as he inspected her bloody hand. Each finger met with his scrutinising gaze. "Where - Which one was it?" he murmured, intrigued.

"I'm a fast healer?" she offered.

"A fast - Don't insult my intelligence," he growled. "I saw that finger. The nail went straight through it."

She blanched. There was no way he was going to let this go. A weary grunt escaped her lips. "Fine. I'll tell you, but, I'm warning you now, you won't believe me."

Erik smirked. "You would be surprised, madame, at what it would take to shock me."

For the first time since she'd met him, she looked into his eyes.

"Can I trust you, monsieur, with this secret?"

"Who would I tell? I keep to myself, for the most part."

Something about him reminded her of people she'd known, people she'd cared about and trusted. It had been a long time since she had taken a leap of faith, perhaps now would be appropriate.

"My hand healed so quickly, Erik, because I am immortal.


End file.
